Work is Work
by Charlie-Of-Oz
Summary: Calling someone "daddy" isn't high on his list of priorities, though it's nothing he hasn't done before. Pornstar!Klaine AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Finn is mentioned, and I changed his death to occur around a year later._

* * *

If you ask him how he happened upon his current career, Kurt Hummel – known better to the world as Porcelain, much to his chagrin - will undoubtedly laugh and say, "Accidentally, that's for sure."

Among other things, his foray into the adult film industry was, in fact, unplanned. An unintentional thank you gift from his stripper-turned-model ex-roommate. He did a friend a favor, naked, and things just sort of spiraled from there.

Kurt is an industry darling, nearly four years into this life. He's friendly and focused, attracting attention and basking in the glow of it.

Occasionally, he laments the loss of potential that died with his rejection from the one performing arts school to which he'd applied at eighteen. Mostly though, he wonders if he'd be working as much had he stuck with his childhood dream of being on Broadway, if he'd be so relaxed were he living in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment ten stories up in a building with no elevators, no air conditioning, shoddy heating, and terrible water pressure, all while vying for attention from directors and producers, begging for roles that were never meant for him according to everyone who'd told him _you're talented, there's something out there for you, but this isn't it_. New York City is a great one to visit, maybe even to live, now that he's got money to pay the bills and a job that's secure for as long as his dick can stay hard, but Los Angeles suits him just fine.

:: ::

"Porcelain," he hears as he walks into his agent's office. Groaning like he does every time he's greeted with that god-awful nickname, Kurt sits across from Santana and raises his eyebrows in question, "What do you have for me?"

"A change of pace, twinkyface."

Kurt rolls his eyes and smiles, hoping to get through this meeting and out to lunch with his visiting family as soon as possible. Really, he wants this day over as soon as possible.

"How do you feel about older men?"

He shrugs; Santana knows his limits, knows calling someone "daddy" isn't high on his list of priorities, though it's nothing he hasn't done before.

"Well, you've got a face grandpas would happily have a coronary to jizz all over, and –"

"Jesus Christ, Santana."

"– _and_ I think it would be wise to take advantage of the libidos and wallets of dirty old men." She goes on, commenting further on how fuckable his face is and how many offers he's received to be a new face on Daddy's Little Twink, some new membership website that's been getting popular of late. Kurt trusts Santana's instincts, and tells her as much. The gentle sincerity of his voice cuts through her sudden tangent about her assistant's ineptitude at taking down messages. Santana halts in her ranting and offers a smile in return for Kurt's.

For a long time, Kurt had been wary of allowing Santana into his professional life, but she had been insistent and effectual, and unlike a lot of those closest to him, she was surprisingly, unfailingly supportive. It would be a lot different to have an agent who kept his best interest in mind yet stayed at a distance, but the personal touch is nice to have around.

:: ::

Kurt had followed his friend and pseudo-brother Sam to Los Angeles the summer after Sam graduated, a year after he himself had. Sam was dead set on breaking into the world of modeling and Kurt just wanted out of his hometown. They had a place to live thanks to their fellow McKinley High alum, Mercedes Jones, who had made the trek from Ohio to California the year prior. They had money thanks to Sam's work as a stripper through the last few years and Kurt's work wherever he could find it. Santana showed up not long after they did, a third semester college dropout, desperate for something new. Struggling together, sharing space in foreign territory, it bonded them, solidified relationships that could have crumbled after high school. It was nice to have a support system in place when everyone else turned on him.

:: ::

Kurt slaps away the fingers snapping in his face and sees Santana's sneer.

"Zone out when I'm speaking again, and I'll book you for straight porn. Nothin' but munchin'."

Kurt lets out a variation on the word "yuck" that sounds suspiciously like he might have actually thrown up in his mouth and gets up to leave.

"Why are you so anxious to get out of here?"

"Lunch with my parents."

"Yikes," she drags out the word. "Why the hell would you rush to that?"

"It's not that bad." Santana laughs heartily, because it really is that bad. "If you think you can manage to keep mentions of my ass, mouth, nipples, dick – really any mention of my body or profession in general to a minimum, you're welcome to come take some pressure off me."

"Oh, thank you for such a kind offer."

"Yes or no, Santana?"

Kurt knows it's a yes when Santana sighs as though she's not excited to have just been handed a first class ticket to a train wreck. He's relieved though, when she stands and grabs her jacket and purse. Much as he hates feeling pitied, there's immense comfort in the hand Santana places on his shoulder as they walk out.

:: ::

Lunch is sure to be an unmitigated disaster.

Carole, who seems to have done nothing but drink since her son died three years ago, is barely on her own side anymore, never mind his. Initially, she'd been his only support in the Hummel-Hudson household; in retrospect, breaking the news of "hey I'm in porn now" at Christmas perhaps wasn't the best of plans. Finn had warmed up to it a bit, but then Finn died and that was a whole new list of problems to deal with. And his father… well, he's never held back from voicing his opinions on the matter.

They're sitting outside at a small restaurant where Kurt only dines when Burt and Carole are here. The experience is tainted each time his father inevitably berates him for _giving up_, for being a disappointment. He forces the negativity down deep, though. As much as he expects the worst, he hopes for better.

"You look good, Dad."

His dad takes a good, long look at him and nods. "So do you, Kurt." He reaches up to lift his ball cap and scratch at his forehead, his eyes squinting in discomfort as he continues speaking, "You as healthy as you look?"

Kurt narrows his eyes and shakes his head because, of course, they can't be within ten feet of one another for more than five minutes without his father resuming the mission to save him.

"Are you asking if I have herpes?"

"Or worse," Burt scoffs.

"Does this conversation count as worse?"

Carole reaches over and pats Santana's arm, attempting to whisper and failing, "They're gonna be at this a while. You wanna head to the bar sweetie?" It's hardly a question, as Carole pulls Santana with her anyway.

"She's not coping well. Is she seeing anyone?"

"You'd know if you'd call."

"I'd call if I wanted to hear more statistics about the spread of HIV or the future I'm destroying a little more each time I fuck on camera."

"Kurt!"

"What? That's what I do."

"_Why_ do you do it?"

The urge to cry, to flee, to scream, to do anything but sit here and rehash the same argument they've been having for years is strong, but he bites his lip and swallows it down. He has no idea how to reroute the conversation without his father redirecting him right back.

"I am proud of what I do and I am happy with who I am."

"Grow up, son."

"I am grown up, Dad. I'm twenty-three years old. An adult."

"You're not acting like it."

"You don't know anything about me anymore. This is all you want to talk about. I'm not just some guy who gets fucked for money, but that's who you see." That last bit was maybe a little louder than intended he realizes, looking around at the stunned faces of nearby patrons. "If you'd like to meet my dog, or see where I live, maybe even stay for dinner and recognize that there's real, edible food in my house, that I don't live on a steady diet of cock alone when you're not here to make sure I'm staying _healthy_, give me a call." He's fuming as rises from his seat, barely able to look at the red-faced man balling his fists and struggling to respond. "Til then."

He finds Santana and his stepmother seated at the bar, giggling happily and oblivious to his eruption. Some of his agitation wanes, enough that he can kiss and hug Carole goodbye, and then he's out of there. Santana excuses herself and follows him out, her comforting hand finding its place on his shoulder again.

Kurt drives Santana back to work, explaining what happened and promising he'll be fine.

When he gets home, his dog greets him at the door, jumping up excitedly and running around his legs as he goes into his bedroom to change his clothes. Now dressed for a run, Kurt crouches down and attaches Frankie's leash. Hopefully, time spent with his number one girl will clear his head.

:: ::

He doesn't hear from his father again, and wonders if they'll ever repair the damage. Santana doesn't let him dwell, though, calling him into her office with supposed big news.

"Act excited! I told you I have big news."

"Tell me the news and I'll respond however I see fit."

She rolls her eyes, but her smile quickly returns at whatever news she's got to share. "We're gonna make your dick immortal!" she singsongs, doing a little dance while she's at it.

"Excuse me?"

She stops in place and crosses her arms, hips cocked out to the side and looking at him like he's a complete and total idiot. "I got a call yesterday, but you were still all mopey and I knew you'd say yes – either because you wanted to or I'd make you – so it's a done deal and the appointment is next week." She pauses for dramatic effect and he wishes she'd just get on with it. "You are going to have your very own dildo."

"I have plenty."

"You're no fun, you know that. This is a big deal, Kurt."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Santana sighs. She seats herself in Kurt's lap, and he rests his head on her shoulder. "Your dad is nuts for not seeing how amazing you are."

"I don't even remember what he looks like when he's not disappointed."

"Call him. Apologize like I know you will, even though he's never apologized, and bounce back because you have a long list of men waiting to fuck your perky little behind. Shooting starts in two days with your first new geriatric; I need you rested and happy."

"Uh huh. I'm always happy to wake up at 5 a.m. for an enema."


	2. Chapter 2

Work is work. It's easy to fall into the swing of things when he's filming all fifteen agreed upon videos in succession over the next six weeks.

According to Santana, the website wants him exclusively for at least the next year; knowing Santana, her recommendation for or against will depend entirely on how much they're willing to pay.

He's got until the week of shooting the last video to decide before the offer is gone. And the offer is tempting. Though his popularity has led to steady work and he's repeated partners and producers, directors, makeup artists, locations, et cetera, he's never had a contract to guarantee steady employment. While the idea of knowing what he'll be doing twelve months down the line kills the air of spontaneity lingering around his choices, he'd be a fool not to see the advantage of contractual job security.

His first scene for the website is a poolside gangbang they've all been laughing off as his "initiation." Orgies are not his particular cup of tea, but it's gratifying nonetheless to put his body in the hands of others, to feel full and used, to be dirty and wanted.

Porn is incredibly stress-relieving, he's learned. Directors are pretty specific, and even if he is occasionally treated more like a prop than a person, he knows exactly what's expected of him; there are few ways to fail if you're paying attention, and it's been years since Kurt's come too soon. Work, a focus on bending the right way and moaning when needed, on licking and kissing and sucking, on reacting to the ways he's poked and prodded, distracts him easily from life off set.

Kurt knows few of the men he's works with, though some are familiar with one another and they're chatty. He supposes that could be another mark in the pro column. Fraternization is sometimes frowned upon before a shoot, just in case the actors clash and the sex is compromised, but here no one seems to care.

:: ::

During the fifth week and twelfth shoot, Kurt meets Blaine and promptly remembers another reason why no fraternization is advised: sometimes it has the opposite effect.

Kurt is a consummate professional, never late and always eager, but L.A. traffic was a bitch this morning and one should never say never.

When he pulls up to a rented mansion he's filmed in before, it's a half hour after his 10 a.m. call time and he's muttering under his breath.

"I'm sorry!" he calls out to no one in particular, passing various members of the production crew en route to the kitchen where he's supposed to meet with the director.

"It's not the first time someone's shown up late on set."

Kurt spins on his heel and sees a man with deliberately mussed curls and an easy smile. There's some gray-infused scruff around that smile and Kurt is close to swooning. Much as he experiences physical intimacy his love life is all but dead and buried.

This man is absolutely gorgeous, the right age but he's dressed like a kindergarten teacher, and he's too short, Kurt thinks. _Too bad, I would call this guy 'daddy' any day if he asked me nicely_. "It's my first time being late to set."

"It happens." The man holds out his hand and Kurt shakes it briefly. "Nice to meet you, Kurt. It's gonna be a long day, but I think we'll have fun."

Getting the distinct impression he's being flirted with, Kurt looks down and away, before realizing, "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"It's Blaine."

"Blaine," he repeats dumbly.

"Mmhmm." _God, even the sound of him humming is sexy._

"I should go. Late. Gotta get changed."

Blaine nods and Kurt stumbles toward the kitchen, mortified and blushing. Santana's unexpectedly waiting there with the director, Jared, when he walks in apologizing all over.

"Save it, Porcelain. There's a change in the plan for today." Santana smirks. "If you're up for it, that is."

Kurt looks between them, waiting for an explanation considering he hadn't even heard the original plan yet, as both turn to look as someone else enters.

"Kurt this is Blaine," announces Jared.

"We've met," Kurt utters. Blaine smiles like there's a secret behind it, but says nothing.

"Good," Jared continues. "Santana said you might be hesitant, but Blaine here is an experienced dom –" Santana smirks, even harder if possible, as Kurt tries to hide that he's taken aback "– and we'd like to try adding some light to moderate bondage to the scene."

All eyes are on Kurt, who is just now realizing Blaine actually is his daddy for the day. "Um…" he's not great with being bound, but he's curious to see what the little man in the bowtie can do. "Sure, something light," he finds himself agreeing.

"Great. Get undressed. Find Maggie, she'll touch you up. Then we need you in the foyer for promo pics. Blaine's an old pro and he'll be calling most the shots with you today, so if you have questions ask him now." And Jared is off, presumably to get the crew moving.

:: ::

After pulling Santana aside and calling bullshit because she definitely knew about this days ago, Kurt undresses in a designated bedroom then primps himself a bit in the adjoining bathroom.

"Any questions?" Blaine asks from the doorway. He's no longer wearing a bowtie, nor his cardigan, nor a shirt, and his chest is on full display. His shoes are off, and his pants are different, tight and leaving nothing to the imagination. Kurt is no stranger to feeling attraction toward the men he works with, but attraction is simply a pull and Blaine is just a guy. So far, all of his "daddies" have looked the part, have been bigger and burlier and sometimes beer-bellied. Blaine is trim and well-groomed, even if his chest is fairly hairy. Blaine has a cute little pooch, but otherwise no body fat to speak of. He seems out of place and Kurt is intrigued. This is a rare moment for him, one in which he is exceedingly thankful to fate for leading him down this path, because this man, _Blaine_, is going to bury himself deep within Kurt, is going to make Kurt beg and plead, is going to dominate him, and Kurt is overcome with immediate need for that to happen.

Panting his way back into the moment, he catches eyes with Blaine whose pupils are as dilated as his own probably are.

Blaine steps in and closes the door behind himself. If not for his extensive familiarity with the production of pornography, he'd think he just stepped into one.

But there are no cameras here. No one telling him where to look or what to do. No extraneous persons. Just him. And Blaine. And Blaine is getting awfully close. And Blaine is kissing him.

This is new. His heart is pounding in his chest, the same chest rubbing against the thick, trimmed hairs of Blaine's bare body. He's delirious with want. Blaine's fingers are firm and persistent in his hair and on his hip. He was hard before Blaine even closed the door, but now he's aching, fully naked and wishing Blaine's pants would disappear. Coming up for air is a necessity on his end, but Blaine just keeps going, sucking hard on the skin of his neck, moving around so as not to leave a mark. And Kurt is rutting against him, like a virgin to the feeling, clawing at Blaine's back to hold him close.

Blaine is working his way down Kurt's body, biting a nipple to hear the sharp hiss it elicits and then soothing it over with an expert tongue.

Knocking on the door is a dull sound that grows sharper when Blaine pulls away from him.

"Where are you going?" Kurt slurs, grasping at Blaine's retreating form. Blaine chuckles, coming in for one last kiss before he opens the door.

Jared looks both stern and amused when he takes in the sight of Kurt, flushed and dazed, leaning on the sink for support, the sight of Blaine looking all too pleased with himself. "Cute, but the rest of us are working out here. Care to join?"

Kurt bites his lip and nods, shaking out his nerves and sliding into work mode.

:: ::

Kurt is dressed in simple clothes he'll soon be stripped of, waiting halfway down a staircase in the foyer so they can film the intro.

A large, circular couch sits low to the ground in the center of the room, dragged in from elsewhere for the scene. His focus keeps returning to the couch and the feeling of Blaine pressing him into it from behind. He pushes everything aside and continues waiting for his cue.

After posing for the promotional pictures that will be posted alongside the video, Kurt's whole body is thrumming to be reconnected with Blaine. Before they started, Jared shared the premise: Blaine is a landscaper/gardener/who cares and Kurt is the homeowner's bratty teen; they meet, they snark, they fuck, that's what matters. They posed in ten different positions, only three of which will be chosen to post, and all of which they will soon reenact – without interruption this time.

The short break that followed was enough time to change into his costume, fix his hair, drink a bottle of water, convince Santana to leave, and get ahold of his hormones.

Determined to be the professional he always is, he reminds himself this is work and takes a deep breath.

Jared gives the word and filming begins.

:: ::

"Excuse me," Kurt scoffs, descending the staircase as Blaine enters the room holding a bottle of water.

Blaine raises an eyebrow in question.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Blaine gives a little shake to the drink in his hand, "Came in to cool off."

"The front door's not for the help."

"Is that so," Blaine chuckles.

Kurt stands at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed and scowling.

"I'm going to tell my mother about this."

Blaine nods slowly, approaching Kurt.

"Anyone ever tell you no one likes a tattletale, kid?"

Kurt rolls his eyes.

"I'm not a kid."

"You're a brat. A bratty kid who could be a little more polite."

Blaine backs Kurt against the railing.

Kurt trembles, but challenges Blaine nonetheless. "Oh yeah," he starts. "What are you gonna do about it?"

:: ::

Blaine's grunted words of praise are echoed in the grip tightening in Kurt's hair and the hips thrusting evermore mercilessly before his kneeling body. Kurt's hands strain against their leather bindings in need of touch. It's torture. And from head to toe, Kurt is tingling with want for more.

Were it not for Jared's occasional input, he'd be completely lost to the feeling.

Blaine pulls him up to stand and force his face down over the side of the couch. He should be more vocal, he knows, begging his daddy for more, telling him how good it feels, but Blaine is kneading his cheeks and rutting against his hole, and when a hand begins landing one hard smack after another, any and all words get buried in the back of his burning throat.

He lets Blaine guide him through the next few hours of recreating their earlier poses, happy in his hands. Blaine is tireless and teasing, and Kurt is desperately aching before they're even horizontal.

Dizzy with lust, Kurt is thrown to the cushions, feeling Blaine's arm hook under his thigh and the rough intrusion of gratification. Holding onto his binding like reigns, Blaine rides him into the makeshift bed.

Kurt is spent by the time he's allowed to come four positions later, slumping down on top of Blaine, who wraps his arms around Kurt's back and strokes lazy circles into his skin. Blaine undoes the belt tied around Kurt's wrists and flips them so Kurt is laying on his back. He sighs at the relief of no longer having to hold himself up. Blaine kisses him then as he comes over Kurt's belly; Kurt is too tired to put in much effort, but Blaine doesn't seem to mind, brushing back the drooping hair from Kurt's face and kissing him slow and intent.

Kurt knows the cameramen are still filming, but it no longer feels like part of the scene.

:: ::

When Kurt leaves the house freshly showered and sated, check in hand, Blaine is waiting by his car. The older man is back to his original outfit, which Kurt now thinks is purposely misleading because Blaine is a hell of a lot less dapper when he's getting his dick sucked.

"Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?"

The question comes as a shock, albeit a minor one. Lots of guys proposition Kurt, it comes with the territory, but they rarely suggest dinner first.

"I would like that, but my ass is practically on fire and I think I'm just going to head home and ice my everything for the next three weeks to a month."

Blaine laughs, and accepts the decline with no further pushing. As it turns out, seeing Blaine walk away is a bit upsetting, so Kurt calls out for him to stop.

"I'm likely to be much less dramatic about it tomorrow around noon, if you wanted to grab lunch instead."

Blaine perks up and Kurt feels a little surge of pride at pleasing the man. "I'd like that," he tells Kurt.

Kurt types his number into Blaine's proffered phone, takes a picture of Blaine, and texts it to himself. "Something to remember you by, in case you forget to call," he teases, handing Blaine's phone back.

"I'll call," Blaine promises.

"Please do," Kurt responds, climbing into his car and wincing from the pain of a long day's work.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not," Blaine scrunches up his face and looks strangely, cutely juvenile. Kurt flips him off and closes the door in his face, smiling all the while. He gives Blaine a little wave and a "call me," then reverses down the driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

Carpooling never crossed his mind once he settled on his current career path. Now, though, he revels in the days he and Blaine are both called to the same location; when Blaine wakes first and takes Frankie for a walk, then comes home to make breakfast; when Kurt showers first, then Blaine fingers him open with the nonchalant ease of braiding hair; when they jockey for control of the radio and Blaine lets Kurt win, but not without lording self-professed kindness over him; when they treat work like a challenge and foreplay all at once; when they fuck in the car halfway between work and home; when Kurt forgets what life was before Blaine.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he waits for the other shoe to drop. For himself or Blaine to wake up and realize they've moved too fast, or for this entire life to have been a dream. Sex is fun and Kurt is fantastic at it, but Blaine's the first man who has ever wanted him for more than that. He holds Kurt's hand just happy to be near him, willingly attends weekly dinners with Kurt's friends – including Santana, talks his mother's ear off about Kurt's cooking, runs Kurt a bath at the end of long days – whether it be a day spent beach bumming under the hot sun or shopping with Mercedes like they'd done since high school but with a much larger budget or being fucked into a wall by a pair of old bears. Blaine loves Kurt, and Kurt is learning how to pick up on the small gestures Blaine offers alongside the words themselves.

It's the cup of coffee made to Kurt's standards served as part of breakfast in bed. It's the growing pile of dog toys and the countless hours Blaine devotes to playing fetch with Frankie in the backyard. It's the grocery list plucked off the fridge without Kurt even asking, the soap refilled in the dispenser just as it lows to empty, the hair that collects on the floor when Blaine shaves being swept away right when he's done, even the fact that Blaine bought that dildo replica of Kurt's penis and insists on displaying in the living room, a fact which bounces back and forth between creepy and sweet. It's all the little ways Blaine's life has been slowly weaving itself into Kurt's.

Blaine wants this as much as Kurt does.

In the seven month span of their relationship, Kurt has adapted to the thought of a shared future, of _ours_ and _we _and _us_ influencing his decisions from now on. They never talked much about it, but one day Blaine and his overused overnight bag simply stopped making the trip back to his bachelor pad, and then Kurt had a house full of things that weren't only his and a home to call _theirs_.

:: ::

Today has been tiring to say the least. Kurt was part of a panel at a college discussing the adult film industry and his own involvement. Appearances of this sort aren't his favorite – academic events aren't nearly as much fun as fan-oriented events or award shows, but generally collegiate audiences are politely inquisitive, letting curiosity lead them without letting it run rampant. For the first twenty or so minutes the panel flowed smoothly as they often do – Kurt and the other four guest speakers introduced themselves briefly and opened themselves to the floor, getting typical questions about their true sexualities and how they got into the business – and then came Jordan, the graduate student who did his research before showing up and turned all attention to Kurt.

Kurt felt like he had a bull's-eye on his forehead.

"I have a few questions, if I may," Jordan began, staring at Kurt. Kurt had smiled and invited the man to ask away. With a nod from the moderator, Jordan continued, mentioning facts about Kurt's life Kurt certainly wasn't expecting to hear and leading with a question about how it was to grow up in Ohio.

"You writing my biography?" he joked, to short laughter from the crowd. "Uh, well, it wasn't great honestly. I was bullied starting in elementary school – for seeming gay. By the time I finished high school it was full blown tormenting – for being gay, but by then I'd also made a great group of friends and it didn't feel nearly as bad as it probably was in reality."

"Wasn't your father a state senator?"

"Still is." Kurt had intended for that to be his final answer on the subject, but Jordan pushed, citing correspondence between the success of Kurt's first major film, _Sweet Porcelain_, and the downturn of his father's popularity in office.

"Why did you choose not to use a stage name, considering your father is in the public eye? Has this… career choice… affected your relationship? He's never commented more than to say your choices are yours and that he won't make further comment; is he supportive?"

"This is all oddly personal."

"You said you were an open book."

"Mmm." He had said that. When he was expecting the most invasive inquiry to be from a bold young soul curious about his medical history or what he thinks about to keep it up for so long on camera.

The moderator stepped in, concerned by Kurt's ongoing silence. "You don't have to answer anything you're uncomfortable with."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable. Not like you're assuming," Kurt said with a quick look to the woman. Looking back to Jordan, he spoke calmly despite the fire in his eyes. "My father and I were very close when I was young. The death of my mother, which I'm sure is noted in that neat little stack of papers you have, really brought us together. No, he does not support my career. Yes, my choices are mine. Yes, I am forthcoming about details of my intimate life nine times out of ten. No, that precedent does not grant _you_ unrestricted access.

"I don't have the shame about working in this industry as you seem to be looking for. I didn't get into porn because my dad fucked up somewhere along the way; it happened because I accompanied my friend to a modeling audition that turned out to be a little more clothes-off than anticipated and an interest sparked. There's nothing wrong with liking sex and getting paid for it legally, as far as I'm concerned, so what reason would I have had to change my name?

"My father's career – hell, anyone's career – shouldn't hinge on the actions of others, but his own. He's a good guy, my dad. He cares about what he does and the people he represents. If you're looking for a reason to attack him using me, it's not going to happen. I love my father. I respect him. How he feels about what I do is irrelevant to that fact. You won't be getting any attention trying to sensationalize our relationship."

"That wasn't my intention."

"No?"

"No."

"Well then, I apologize. It must have been the meticulous detailing of my past, the spotlight on my father, and the derision in your tone that threw me."

Jordan sat down looking subdued though a bit satisfied, and the next forty-five minutes ticked by quickly once the discussion returned to its intended focus. Sam and Mercedes, who'd been in the audience, met him as he left the stage with the other speakers.

Sam led with, "That was awkward," and Mercedes shushed him, but Kurt's been well used to Sam for years. "Yes, it was," Kurt agreed.

The three friends caught a late lunch together, then parted ways. The longer Kurt sat in traffic, the more he trembled with the need to be home alone and drowning in his warm, soft bed.

:: ::

"I think I fucked up," he admits when Blaine finds him swathed in their blankets like a newborn. Blaine's peels back the covers and Kurt smiles sheepishly and sleepily, face smushed into Blaine's pillow and groaning at the sunlight. He gets a kiss to the forehead before Blaine is hopping off the bed and moving where Kurt can't see him. Kurt can hear a drawer opening and clothes being tossed on the bed.

"You wanna talk about it?" Blaine asks when Kurt doesn't continue.

"No," Kurt stubbornly asserts. He really doesn't want to talk about it. Not until he's sufficiently combed through everything he'd said to an audience earlier, determined how bad it was or if it was bad at all, and figured out how to tell his dad.

"Not that I want to interrupt your wallowing, but if you can spare me a second… yes bowtie? Or no bowtie?" Blaine questions, kneeling on the bed so he's in Kurt's eye line.

"Where are you going?"

"Dinner at Cooper's," he says slowly, as though it should be obvious.

"Oh." Kurt definitely forgot about that. When he came home, he'd slipped right into bed. He'd seen Blaine's car in the driveway, but neither the man himself nor Frankie and figured they were on an afternoon walk. He'd nodded off, completely forgetting their plans with Cooper. "You're going without me?"

"It kinda seems like you want to be alone, Kurt."

"You could have said something," he insists, though he makes no effort to move.

"Would you like to get up and get dressed so we can go eat with my brother and his house full of children? Because all of them are there."

Kurt pulls a face and Blaine smirks.

"No thanks." Cooper is tad… eccentric, and his "children" are hardly that, seeing as all five of them are older than Kurt by at least three years, and just as cracked as their father. He loves them all, he really does, but they're too much to take on after an exhausting day. He lifts his head to get a better look at Blaine's outfit, then flops back down. "No bowtie," he drowsily tells Blaine and buries himself comfortably under the covers.

"Okay," Blaine smiles, backing off the mattress. "I'll see you when I get home."

:: ::

He wakes up after Blaine has gotten home and gone to sleep. It's midnight and all he can think about is calling his father, getting it out of the way. Thinking they'll be no answer when it's even later, he dials his father's number, regretting it when Burt picks up instead of the answering machine. Getting past the shock and steeling himself for his dad's reaction, he shares what happened at the panel twelve hours ago. Burt is quiet through the tale, a silence which Kurt feels very familiar with though they haven't spoken in months. But Blaine is nuzzling into a pillow less than a foot away and Kurt draws comfort from that calming presence. Regardless of what his father says, at least it can't touch them.

The call is just a courtesy, a warning in case it does make its way around, especially considering November elections are weeks away and Burt had barely scraped by in the primaries. It's hard to believe in the last six years that their relationship has devolved from one of trust and reliance to this inability and lack of desire to communicate at all.

"Jesus Kurt," his father huffs. "This is the exact kind of crap I don't need at the exact time I don't need it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't say anything bad, I just –"

"You agreed to say nothing."

"I'm sorry." He runs a hand through Blaine's unkempt curls, gentle reassurance that the world hasn't ended because his father is disappointed in him again. "I just wanted you to know."

There's silence that stretches into a new realm of uncomfortable. Without being able to see his father's face, he's not sure if it's more the disappointment or the anger keeping him quiet this time. It's a little guessing game he occupies himself with when their phone calls get like this.

"Don't come home again, Kurt."

"What?" It's little more than a puff of air but it's the best he can do when it hurts like he's been impaled with a blunt object.

"Not until your life is sorted. Not until you're ready to be someone I can be proud of again. Dammit Kurt, you're just… not the man I hoped you'd be."

"I –" He wants to protest, to tell his dad that his life is sorted, that Burt can be proud of him just as he is, that Burt isn't exactly someone Kurt's proud of right now, but the fight is gone. "Bye, Dad."

He doesn't even bother ending the call as the phone slips from his hand, trusting his dad will have already hung up. It gets tangled somewhere in their sheets when Kurt slides his body toward Blaine and prods at the sleeping man until his arms are wrapped securely around Kurt.

Kurt matches his breathing to Blaine's and tries hard to fall asleep. It takes longer than usual with his mind screaming obscenities at his father. And at himself. He has to push away the thought of quitting and finding a new career path just to have his father love him again; sure, his father would be happy, but he'd never forgive himself for giving in to the bully Burt has become.

Blaine sniffles in his sleep and snuggles in tighter and Kurt is grateful for the one thing in his life that works, because that one thing is everything. Blaine is a welcome intrusion to every aspect of Kurt's life. Even when they fight about Blaine's insecurities in getting older and his subsequent fear of losing Kurt or clash over Kurt's perfectionist habits and occasional holier-than-thou attitude, Kurt never loses the sense of sureness that they'll persevere, that they'll overcome anything that tries to get in their way – including themselves.

Blaine loves Kurt, and Kurt is learning how to accept that it comes without conditions.


End file.
